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Sweet are old courts with dates above the doors, And yew-trees clipped in shapes, and cedar walks, And lawns whereon a quiet peaco*k stalks, And leaden casements, and black shining floors, And arm-chairs carved like good cathedral stalls, And huge French clocks, and bedsteads most inviting, And stiff old ladies hung upon the walls, Famed in the days of English memoir-writing:-- Places whose very look kind thoughts might draw Even to Anne Stuart or William of Na**au. Sweeter than Tudor-stricken shrines are they, With pleasant grounds and rivers lingering by,-- Quaint homes, that shed a pure, domestic ray Over the dull time of English history.